


Dresses

by cinderfell



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Established Relationship, F/F, Post-Chroma Conclave, Self-Esteem Issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-01
Updated: 2017-01-01
Packaged: 2018-09-13 21:30:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,593
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9143071
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cinderfell/pseuds/cinderfell
Summary: Keyleth and Pike spend a quiet afternoon together treating themselves.





	

**Author's Note:**

> one of my goals for 2016 was to help get the pikeleth ao3 tag up to double digits. well, this is the fic that pushes it over. and it went up at 11:59pm on new year's eve (but it registered as going up on on 1/1 BUT I HAVE THE PROOF, AO3). i dragged up an old wip five hours before midnight and have been writing non-stop, so forgive any roughness to this.
> 
> happy new year, y'all.

There’s time for rest after the dragons.

There’s also time for uncertainty. They spent so much time pushed into a time crunch as they struggled and rushed to save everything, the sudden freedom of not having the weight of the world bearing down on their shoulders is a little unnerving, to say the least. So maybe that’s why Pike takes Keyleth’s hand one morning after breakfast, her mouth curved upwards into a smile. “You wanna do something with me today?”

And maybe _that’s_ why it’s so easy for Keyleth to return her smile with a squeeze of the cleric’s hand. “I’d love to.”

Pike’s idea of doing something brings them to a little shop towards the center of Whitestone, a small business that clearly doubles as a home. The seamstress who greets them is a short, mousy woman (although, it’s hard to seem short with a gnome in the room) with dark eyes that seems flattered but nervous about her two customers. Keyleth is pretty bad at reading people, but even she has an idea of why.

Keyleth is tall, all broad-shoulders and long legs; willowy but strong. Pike is short and more compact, just over three feet tall. It’s… well, frankly, they’re probably a dressmaker’s nightmare.

Pike notices too, dropping Keyleth’s hand after greeting the seamstress and taking a few steps into the shop. She stands by a row of dresses, running her hands across them. Her entire body wouldn’t even fill the skirt of some of them. With a small smile, she turns back to Keyleth.

“Hmm. You know, I think everything here might be a _little_ too big for me.” Pike puts a hand to her chin as if she’s pondering something deeply.

The seamstress glances down at Pike apologetically before taking a couple quick steps over to what looks like a wall made completely of fabric. “Yes, unfortunately most of Whitestone’s population is human so our dresses reflect that. Making clothing for much shorter or much taller folks always runs the risk of being a waste of resources if nobody could buy them.”

Pike lets out a small laugh, raising her hands up in front of her before she returns to Keyleth’s side, comfortably resting her weight against the druid. “No worries! I’m used to it.”

The seamstress shuffles through the fabric slowly. “With the recent influx of refugees here I _have_ been considering broadening our sizes, however.”

“That sounds like a lovely idea!” Pike brightens immediately at the thought and Keyleth’s reminded of the fact that the cleric has spent more time with the refugees than anybody else in their party. While the rest of Vox Machina was off hunting down vestiges and reuniting with old friends, Pike was left behind to tend to the wounded and ill.

The memory of what life was like without Pike makes her shoulders sag, although she hopes that neither Pike herself nor the seamstress notices. Vox Machina’s entire dynamic changes without Pike. They’re always more on edge and disagreements come to blows much quicker without Pike’s defusing presence. There’s just something about her that draws them all together, something that makes them all feel like a family, and without her they all fall apart.

Keyleth hates when Pike’s gone. She loves the rest of Vox Machina dearly, but there’s just something about the way they brush her aside so often, laughing at her more ridiculous anxiety-driven fears and treating her as if she’s a child with no sense of the world around her. They never intend to be malicious and she knows that—although when they bring up the child she killed she sometimes wonders if they know how much it still stings—but it never stops the feeling of isolation she often gets while surrounded by her own family.

With Pike it’s different. She never berates Keyleth for her screw-ups or makes her feel lesser than any other member of the party. She looks up to Pike—er, down to Pike?—and her seemingly endless positivity and kindness in the face of the horrifying things thrown at them. She makes Keyleth feel safe. She makes her feel as if she isn’t a burden for being the way that she is.

There’s also the fact that Pike is incredibly pretty and fond of kissing the druid when she least expects it, but that’s beside the point.

“I know many refugees would be happy if you could help them by widening your stock to accommodate them.” The soft lilt of the cleric’s voice brings Keyleth back and with a shake of her head she brushes away the sadness that thoughts of Pike leaving bring, straightening her shoulders once again. “Many of them came here with only the clothes on their backs and haven’t had the chance to go home yet. They wouldn’t even need anything too fancy. Most of them are working class people who just need something practical.”

“Mhm, it’s quite tragic. I’ll definitely look into seeing what I can do. I _am_ still a business so I may be limited in what I can just give away, but I would like to help if I can. The people here in Whitestone are all too familiar with tragedy,” the seamstress says sadly, picking up a silvery fabric from the pile in front of her. There’s a moment of quiet as the three of them stand together, Pike and Keyleth turning their heads to meet each other’s eyes. Whitestone under the Briarwood’s rule was not kind to the residents and neither was the revolution against them. It’s rare to meet a person in the city who hasn’t lost somebody between the fall of the de Rolo family and the uprising Vox Machina helped bring about. There are no words exchanged between Pike and Keyleth, but Keyleth has a feeling that they’re both thinking the same thing: did this woman lose somebody and, if so, did they help cause it?

After a moment, the seamstress turns back around to the two of them and hands the piece of fabric down to Pike. The cleric blinks as she accepts it, glancing down at what looks like a patch of moonlight in her hands. “I don’t have anything in stock that would fit you, miss, but if you wanted I could have something made for you. It doesn’t have to be with that, but I personally find it suits you.”

“I…” Pike starts before awkwardly fumbling her words and falling into silence, staring down at the fabric. Finally, she settles for a soft, “It’s beautiful.”

“And _you’d_ look beautiful in it,” Keyleth says with a grin, nudging her girlfriend.

Pike gives the loveliest laugh before holding it against her chest, a look of awe still on her face as she glances back up at the woman. “Yes. Yes, I’d love that.”

The next couple of minutes are spent taking Pike’s measurements, with Keyleth awkwardly sitting off to the side waiting. When that’s done, the seamstress’s smile is easier. She sets her parchment full of measurements off to the side and takes a couple steps over to the dresses again, gesturing at Keyleth. “Well, with that out of the way, you should be easier. You’re too tall for most of these dresses but we can adjust them.”

Keyleth shoots Pike a nervous look, the weight of the woman’s attention now trained on her. Pike reaches up and pats her on the arm reassuringly. “I really don’t know what I want.”

“What about something like this?” Pike takes a step forward and reaches out so she can roll her thumbs across the hem of a dress so bright that Keyleth almost feels embarrassed to simply be in its presence. The dress is gold, which in itself is not an issue. Keyleth has grown quite fond of wearing a touch of gold in her wardrobe—Vex once remarked that with all of her oranges and gold Keyleth looked like autumn itself—but this is too flashy, too colorful, too… too everything. Even under the dimmed light of the shop the fabric practically glitters as if made of sunlight.

It isn’t as if it’s ugly. No, quite the opposite, really. It’s long and elegant, the top sleeveless and melting from solid golden fabric to an intricate floral pattern around the neck and shoulders. It’s gorgeous and _that_ is what makes Keyleth want to get as far away from it as possible, even as a small part of her yearns to be able to pull something like this off.

“Uh, I don’t really think that’s my style,” she says softly as Pike raises the dress up higher as if to give her companion a better look.

“Really?” Pike frowns as she glances between the fabric and the half-elf before her.

“It’s just too… too _much_. I think I’m better off in something else,” she stutters, glancing at the rows of dresses next to her. Without bothering to look it over extensively, she snatches a more neutral olive dress off the rack and holds it in front of her. “Something like this.”

Pike seems to take a moment to look both the dress and Keyleth over, face scrunching up a bit as she looks at it. “Keyleth, I love you. I love you but that’s ugly.”

“That one you have… it’s too pretty for me, Pike,” she finally says with a laugh, as if the laughter makes what she says any better.

There’s a moment of silence as Pike processes her words before it seems to click. The hand holding the dress slowly lowers, her eyes widening briefly before settling into the gentle gaze she gives her friends when they say something that makes her sad.

“Oh, Keyleth.” Pike’s voice is ridiculously soft.

Keyleth shoots the golden dress a sad smile before she lets the olive dress slip from between her fingers and fall back into place. “It’s fine, really. I can pick out a different one.”

Pike looks her over, her features soft as she frowns. And then she shifts, her face settling into a look of determination.

“Well, I think it’s perfect for you,” Pike asserts, raising an eyebrow at her. “A beautiful dress for a beautiful woman.”

“Pike!” Keyleth barks out with a flustered laugh, feeling heat rise to her cheeks.

“You can try it on, if you want,” the seamstress chimes in gently. “It won’t fit you perfectly without adjustments, but trying it on should be able to tell you if you’ll like it.”

Pike glances over at the woman briefly, throwing her a smile before turning her blue eyes back on Keyleth. “Will you at least try it on? You don’t have to buy it or stay in it, but would you at least consider trying it on?”

And she cracks. Just a little bit. Because Keyleth is nothing if not weak for Pike, and the way she asks is so soft and sweet.

The seamstress guides her behind a screen and gives her privacy to change. She fumbles into the dress, feeling clumsy and awkward as she pulls it on and very, very aware of the thin shield between her and the the other women. When she emerges a couple minutes later, Keyleth’s hands are shaking just a little bit.

The cleric is quiet, her eyes wide and lips slightly parted as she takes in her girlfriend. After a second too long without comment, Keyleth feels a rush of heat rise to her cheeks and she nervously moves her arms to wrap around her middle, hugging herself. “I told you it was too much.”

“No,” she says quietly, making Keyleth bring her gaze up to meet Pike’s.

Pike takes a couple steps closer to her and tugs at the golden skirt of the dress, light enough to avoid accidentally damaging it but hard enough to get her point across. Keyleth awkwardly leans down, careful not to let the fabric drag too much on the floor for fear of getting it dirty. Small hands adjust the way it falls across her body, brushing red hair back over Keyleth’s shoulders so she has better access to the dress. Keyleth pretends not to notice the way Pike’s fingertips linger against the skin on her shoulders; she pretends it’s not leaving her with a blush mirroring Pike’s own. Pike skin is flushed, not a gentle, dusty pink anymore but a deep, almost red color. Pike’s eyes are dark and blue like the seas she called home many months ago, freckles dotting her face beneath the blush—how has she never noticed them before?—and it’s nowhere near the amount of freckles Keyleth herself has, but it may be the loveliest thing she’s seen in her life.

Pike takes her face in her hands and presses a soft kiss against the tip of Keyleth’s nose, startling a laugh out of Keyleth before it’s quickly silenced by Pike catching her lips with her own. Keyleth melts into it instantly, leaning into Pike’s hands and kiss. When Pike lets go of her and pulls back, she takes Keyleth by the waist and spins her around to face the mirror.

“I’m not saying you have to get it, Keyleth. If you’re not comfortable with it then I’m not going to keep bothering you about it.” Pike’s voice is gentle as she speaks, almost as if she’s afraid she’ll spook Keyleth. “But I want you to know that you look gorgeous.”

And for a moment, Keyleth does feel gorgeous.

It’s gold and bright and too small for her, hanging a little awkwardly off her frame because of it, but it’s not ugly on her by any stretch of the imagination. She doesn’t feel like she’s playing dress up like she thought she would in a dress like this. And maybe it’s because of Pike, now holding her hand in the mirror next to her, telling her that, but it doesn’t stop the warm flutter of butterflies in her stomach as she looks herself over.

“I think I like it,” she admits quietly, trying to ignore the way her cheeks nearly match her hair and the way a tiny smile is slowly creeping it’s way across her face.

Instead of giving her a proper response, Pike tugs her down by her arm abruptly and nearly leaps up to plant one on her. Keyleth’s laugh is muffled against the kiss and she can feel Pike grinning against her lips, seemingly happy with her girlfriend’s choice. She catches sight of the seamstress smiling softly out of the corner of her eye and Keyleth promptly pulls away, wondering if it’s possible for her to get even redder. For her part, Pike seems completely unbothered by their spectator.

After Keyleth changes back to her normal clothing, they set her dress and Pike’s bundle of fabric on the counter and the seamstress scribbles on a piece of paper, eyes glimmering behind her spectacles. Drawing a line beneath a set of scribbles with a flourish, she leans forward to hand the paper down to Pike. “This will be your total, then.” 

Pike visibly tenses as she looks down at the piece of paper in her hands. The flush in her cheeks from the earlier flirting drains away in an instant and Keyleth, curious as ever, leans down to get a better look. She feels a lurch in her stomach as she sees the number.

“Oh,” she whispers, pressing a hand against her mouth. Next to her, Pike is already digging through her pockets for gold. “Vex is going to kill us.”


End file.
